So Much
by Jedi Amoira
Summary: DA 2 Spoilers. Anders asks if the time has come to part ways. Hawke says no and Fenris reacts in a way she never expected. Hawke's POV, maybe even an entry in that infamous journal of hers. Companion to Lightning in the Wind & Stalemate.


Dedicated to **FusedWithMuse**. Thanks so much!

**Disclaimer**-Much as I might wish otherwise, I do not own DAO, DA2, any part of Thedas, or any character there-in. I greatly appreciate Bioware allowing me to play with them for a little while.

**Notes**-Takes place after **_Dissent_**.

For now, this is a stand-alone fic. It does deal with the same Hawke as _Stalemate _and _Lightning in the Wind._ I suspect I will eventually compile a collection of fics and snippets as I tend to do. If anyone has title suggestions for such an eventuality, I'd like to hear them. I can't see how it matters, but in case it does, at this point, I envision this fic as taking place in the same universe as the _DAO Fragments_ Fics.

For any readers familiar with my other stories, I would like to assure you that while progress may be infrequent, none of my fics have been abandoned. Reader interest and reviews do tend to help keep me writing. *hint, hint*

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><p>"Well?"<p>

Fenris glanced over at me, surprise in the mossy depths of his eyes, and kept walking.

"You don't like Anders," I said flatly. "You've never liked him."

Fenris' shoulder twitched, signalling-or so I thought-some stifled impulse to shrug. I had to admit he had a point, unspoken though it was. He'd never made a secret of his dislike... but he'd never made an issue of it, either. At least... not so big an issue he'd refused to spend time with the man, or even to cut down enemies who threatened his well-being. Which was, really, quite a large concession when I thought about it...

but, I tried not to do that.

Because then I had to remember-had to _admit_-that my own presence in his life was a concession, too. I made him uneasy by being around him. More than that, I made him uneasy simply by being who I was. And, someday he was going to decide he'd had enough of being uncomfortable.

And I would be left behind.

Again.

Denied his company.

This time for good.

The fear stopped in my throat, made it hard to breathe. Sometimes I wonder if this was what it felt like, having your heart crushed in his hand.

"So... why don't you do it?" I snapped, lashing back against the pain. "Just say what you're thinking!"

Fenris paused in mid-step, turned his head back to me, raised one dark, laconic brow. "And what would that be, Hawke?"

"Anders is dangerous," I hissed, angry only at myself. "And I _know_ it."

"True." Fenris spoke the word calmly, evenly, handing me nothing but a level measure of the truth. I have always loved that about him... even if it can be damned uncomfortable at times. Truth endures, but comfort, that can kill you. "Even the Abomination no longer denies that."

He began moving again, the steps smooth, seamless. Untroubled. Feeling awkward and more than a little bedraggled, I tagged along in his wake.

"I should have let him walk away," I said, my voice softening and sagging as my anger drained away. "Let him! _I_... we should walk away from him... before he snaps... again." I reached up and rubbed at the tension gathering just above the bridge of my nose, the knot of fear and resentment and pain. "Before he really does something I _can't_ prevent. Before someone-other than those damn thugs we're always thwarting-gets hurt..."

I knew it.

Oh, I knew it.

I'd known it for a long time.

In fact, I think I'd had a damn good inkling the first time we'd walked into that hovel he called a clinic. He whipped around like the seasoned fighter he was, staff raised, ready to blast us all into oblivion. Before he even knew who we were or what we wanted. He'd left me more than a little uneasy, even then.

But I'd given him the benefit of the doubt because I felt he deserved it, at first. All living beings do, until they prove otherwise. But.. this one even more than most, perhaps, because he'd had a hard life. Because he'd come from Ferelden. Because he worked so hard and meant so well. Healed so many.

And because I needed him.

I admit it.

I tried to ignore my instincts because I needed his help.

For my own selfish material gain. And that of my family.

It was that simple.

It was that complicated.

He made me uneasy. He always had.

I could sense the faint _wrongness_ simmering about him, a hiss of power like steam escaping a kettle, moving across my skin, whenever I was near him, and it left me feeling wary and weary and more than a little threatened...

But... he had helped me make my fortune.

He had saved Carver, snatched him back from the jaws of death.

And he hadn't _done_ anything to make me distrust him.

Until now.

But he'd stopped.

He'd regained control.

This time.

"Next time," I whispered, "it might be Varric." My throat tightened again. I could feel the back of my eyes burn. I rubbed at the bridge of my nose again, partly to ease the sensation, mostly to avoid looking at him. "It might be _you_."

Fenris whirled on the balls of his feet, fast, as fast as I'd ever seen him move. As fast-or faster-than Isabela.

He took a step in my direction.

And another.

My heart stopped.

My skin flushed with warmth.

Fenris stopped, his eyes flashing like the light in the sky that always heralded the approach of a particularly violent storm-lightning, wind, hail-toward our farm, a lifetime or more ago in Ferelden.

For a moment, we stared at each other, the air charged as if it might burst into fire between us.

Then, suddenly, violently-for all that it's a contradiction in terms-a faint, glowing blue ripple moved across Fenris' beautiful golden skin and the tension shattered, detonated in a burst of sheer determination. Fenris was wearing the faintest suggestion of a smile. A subtle twist of his lips that said so much. Words of amusement. Words of comfort. Affection. Or maybe that was just what I heard. I hoped not. But... I couldn't be sure, could I? Not without breaking the silence... and once things are broken, well... they can't always be put back together.

Ah, if only Varric's admiring audience knew.

I am _such_ a coward.

"I assure you, Hawke," Fenris said, his voice a warm, soothing rumble, "I can take care of myself." He gave one of those delightful, unexpected chuckles I loved so much; the ones I'd go to great lengths to produce. "_And_ the dwarf."

"Still," I whispered, "I should have gotten rid of him. While I had the chance."

"If that's how you feel," Fenris said, drawing the words out as if he were feeling his way around the sharp, rocky cliffs of the coast in the dark. "Why didn't you?" His brief relaxation vanished as if I had imagined it; he held himself taunt, very nearly quivering, a hound on the leash, listening for the sounds of the hunt.

Damn the man.

He was always asking me questions I didn't know how to answer.

"He's possessed," I said flatly. I had thought it for a long time. And for a long time, I'd struggled not to think it. I'd struggled not to say it. But it was true; I could not and I would not deny it any longer. Not to myself, not to Fenris, and not to Anders. "But... he's not an Abomination. Not yet."

I held up my hand to forestall the response I knew was coming and sighed.

"He's Anders. Unlike any Abomination I've ever encountered, he knows his name. He knows that he likes cats. That he trusts us. That he heals refugees. He knows that he wants to help people, Fenris. He remembers who he is and the reason _why_ he's being consumed from the inside out by desire. As long as that's true... I can't turn my back on him. I just can't. Even if I think I should."

"Far be it for me to decry the value of memory," Fenris murmured, sorrow in his voice, deep and still as the sea, "but is it enough, Hawke? Can it be?"

A denial hovered on my tongue. I could taste it. It was harsh. It was bitter. It had sharp edges. And, if I said it, I wouldn't be speaking of Anders. Not any more.

"Maybe not," I said instead, looking away, as if to remove the sight of him would be enough to remove the temptation he represented. "But.. whatever he might become, Anders is _still_ a good man. Gentle, tender, kind... like my sister Bethany, just a bit. So warm. So much more patient than I could ever be. Everything life is missing."

"Hawke," Fenris said slowly, the word rough and aching. "Anders is _not_ your sister."

"Don't you think I know that?" The words cracked like a rockslide. Fenris rocked back on his heels, looking slightly shaken. Less shaken than I felt; pain burbled through me like a volcanic eruption, hot and acrid."Bethany is gone." Even after all the years, my heart shivered. "But Anders isn't. That's my point."

Fenris looked skeptical, though he hadn't really changed in stance or expression. How does he do that? Like the man himself, it's a mystery.

Flemeth was right, too, damn her hide. Sometimes, there are some things you just don't have to understand. That they exist, that's enough. Those things are pretty rare, though. And when you find one... well... I was getting distracted.

"He's still Anders," I repeated. "You said it yourself, you know... it's time for him to recognize and respect his limitations. He can do it. He's still in control. He can still make his own choices. The ones that reflect the best of who he is and what he intends. That part of his nature outweighs the rest of it, both in value and presence. I want to believe that, Fenris. I _need_ to believe it."

Because... if Anders couldn't control himself, couldn't maintain his own identity...

It might mean, ultimately, at some point, in the end, neither could I.

It was, it is, it will_ always_ be, my greatest fear.

Not having a choice.

Losing control of myself. Fading away like twilight. Until there's nothing left but blackness and few fragmented desires burning like brands in the night, and being powerless,_ powerless_ to fight it. To stop it.

My greatest fear is...

it is only a matter of time.

The templars are right.

_Fenris_ is right.

I am dangerous, not because I chose to be, but simply because I exist. I am dangerous not for _who_ I am, but for _what_ I must be...

And I am most dangerous, when all is said and done, to myself...

because I have no choice.

"I don't," Fenris grated, and it took me a handful of heartbeats to realize what in blazes he was trying to say. I wondered if he meant he didn't want to believe in Anders, he didn't need to believe, or simply that he didn't believe. The last, I supposed, which probably covered the other two.

I figured this was where our conversation would end, unresolved. Which was, really, almost comforting. Resolution, I think, is a bit overrated. Resolution is boring. Resolution-as Varric will tell you-is where the story ends. And if the story is over, you're probably dead.

I'd prefer to avoid that. Who wouldn't?

"But," Fenris said, and I jumped as if muggers have stepped out of the nearest ally. In fact, if that had happened, I would have been_ less_ surprised._ Considerably_ less surprised. "I believe the Abom-" he paused. I wondered if he saw me flinch. He let his breath out in a soft huff, too sharp and too strong to be a sigh. "The Apostate," he corrected himself, conceding, "is dangerous regardless of where he is. If he goes, we have no way of knowing what he will do. If he stays, at least we-" his lips curled in a subtle admission of the irony and humor of the word, "will be able to exert some influence... mitigate the effect that... thing has on..."

Others? The world? Him? Was the thing he spoke of Vengeance or Anders? I wished I knew the end of that sentence. But... did it matter?

"You mean..." The streets of Hightown spun around me, swirling like the mists of the Fade, where everything-as Merrill would say-is a trick, or a trap, or a lie... "You _agree_ with me?"

Fenris twitched. I was unsure what that meant. Andraste's Ashes, I should be used to that. I never know exactly what he thinks. Or maybe I do. It is what he_ feels_ that seems like a foreign tongue I can almost-but-quite comprehend. Always. It maddens me, but... it's tantalizing, too, something just out of reach... a challenge. I do love those.

And...

"I could say I would have killed him," Fenris said, amusement glimmering through the seemingly calm surface of his voice. "But I was there... and yet... his heart beats in his chest as we speak, does it not?"

"Well," I gasped, collapsing onto a nearby stone bench, dizzy and dazed. "You would have told him to stay," I mumbled like Merrill repeating some human phrase she didn't quite understand.

Fenris coughs. "No," he said firmly. "I would _not_ say that..."

There is a long pause.

"_You_ told him to stay," Fenris said softly. "And so... I would not tell him to go. I will say so much... and no more."

"Oh." Intelligent and eloquent to the very end. That's what I am, all right. "Oh, I see."

I wondered if Fenris read between the lines, if he understood that so much-little as it was-was more than enough.


End file.
